


Dance me through the panic

by lapoesieestdanslarue



Category: Inception (2010), Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Dreams vs. Reality, First Dance, M/M, Wedding Night, Weddings, also gratuitous reference to pride and prejudice (the movie), this is.... pure fluff i apologise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14958590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapoesieestdanslarue/pseuds/lapoesieestdanslarue
Summary: You are cordially invited to the joyous matrimony ofThomas Shelby&Alistair EamesIn Grosnevor Court on the 28th June 2018RSVP to +3547892361And then, underneath, a hasty note scribbled in Tommy’s hand addressed to his siblings;No fucking fighting. I mean it. No FUCKING fighting.





	Dance me through the panic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apolliades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolliades/gifts).



Tommy rests his head against the brick wall of the manor house, inhaling deep lungfuls of cold night air, his head spinning. 

“Alright darling?”

“You’re not running away already, are you? You should have done it at the altar, it would have been so much more cinematic.” Eames pauses to light a cigarette. “We could have been Richard Gere and Julia Roberts from _Runaway Bride._ ”

Tommy gazes at Eames through his half-lidded eyes, his lips tugging at the corners into the ghost of a smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Eames regards him thoughtfully, taking a puff of his cigarette. “You don’t really want to do a runner, do you?”

Tommy shakes his head, rolling his eyes at Eames’ ridiculousness. “I’m not running away, for god’s sake.” He holds his hand out, and Eames gives him the cigarette obediently. Taking a deep drag, he lets his eyes flutter shut, exhaling on a sigh. He can feel Eames come into his space, the way their fingers brush, the ghostlike presence of his lips by Tommy’s ear. “What is it, darling?”

Taking another drag, Tommy looks down at his shoes. It’s so easy, so impossibly easy to lie to him, if he wanted. He can feel the pull, the desire to just put up a wall and protect this part of himself. But then… 

Then there’s what he promised. What he would have _always_ promised Eames, except today it became bound by law. He vowed Eames his love; he vowed Eames every part of him, even the ugly parts of him. And while Tommy can’t, for the life of him, understand _why_ Eames wants that, he seems particularly insistent that he does and so. That’s where they are. 

It would be so easy to lie.

But instead, he takes a deep breath in through his nose and passes the cigarette back to Eames. Eames is staring at him with such a gentle intensity Tommy could melt under it. “I just, um,” he clears his throat, scuffing his shoe against the pebbles on the ground. “I feel… So much.” He stops, unsure. Takes the cigarette from Eames, takes a drag and hands it back. “I never thought I’d have this. That I’d get my family and a person I loved and… safety. And a home. It’s… It feels like a dream.” He turns to Eames, slides a hand under his suit jacket to feel the warm, steady thrum of his heart beating against his ribs. Undeniably real. “You’re like a dream to me, a perfect dream, but I can’t--”

Eames ducks down, pressing a fierce kiss against Tommy’s neck. “It’s real, Tom. I promise you. Look,” he rummages through his back pocket, and in the second he stands back Tommy already misses his warmth. When he leans back in, he’s holding the lighter Tommy gave him, a kind of back-up totem. He flicks the sparkwheel again and again but nothing happens; there’s no spark. Tommy presses his forehead against the side of Eames’ letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

They stay like that for quite some time, staring at the lighter in their hands, the gold bands on their fingers, existing in the impossible air of it all.“ _Dia tugtha_ ,” Tommy whispers into the hollow of Eames’ cheekbones, words his mother used to speak in reverence in her own language. Eames doesn’t ask him what it means, just turns and knocks their foreheads together, brushing his lips against Tommy’s in the barest hint of a kiss.

From inside the reception, the familiar strains of ‘unchained melody’ begin to play. Eames’ grin turns wolfish, and Tommy has ‘no’ out of his mouth before Eames can even begin to pull him away from the wall. 

“But _darling,”_ he admonishes. “We have to have a first dance!”

“We already had a first dance,” Tommy shoots back. “We had bloody fifty!”

“Yeah but you hated them,” Eames wheedles. “All those people looking at us. You were holding back.” He tugs at Tommy’s hand. “ _Please,_ darling.”

“Fine,” Tommy aquises, allowing himself to be corralled into Eames’ arms. “But don’t call me darling.”

“Why?” Eames frowns, his brow still creasing but his eyes alight with curiosity and spark. “It's what Pol always calls us when she's in a mood.” Eames nods in understanding, playing along, wrapping an arm around Tommy’s waist, pulling him closer, and Tommy lets him. “What endearments am I allowed?” Tommy smiles, unable to help himself. Eames seems to bask in it, in their private moments and memories and smiles. “Tommy for everyday. Light of my life but only on special occasions.” “And what will I call you when _I'm_ in a mood?” Eames asks, lips ghosting above Tommy’s jugular. “Mr. Eames?” Tommy pulls back. “Oh no. You can only call me Mr. Eames when you’re purely happy.” Eames takes his face between his hands. “And how are you this evening, Mr. Eames?” Tommy smiles as his husband leans forward, a kiss on either eye- “Mr. Eames”- a press of his lips against Tommy’s forehead- “Mr. Eames”- two chaste pecks for both cheeks- “Mr. Eames.” Eames himself pulls back only once, to gaze at Tommy with liquid gold in his eyes, smile dripping like honey. “Mr. Eames,” he sighs, thumb over Tommy’s bottom lip, and when he finally presses them flush together, Tommy feels all those walls, all that fear, drain away from him and be replaced by the familiar and all-consuming feeling of home. 

 

 


End file.
